


The Gentleman Beast and His Mage

by Sang_argente



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awesome Sheriff Stilinski, Derek Hale is a Good Alpha, F/M, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mentions of Mates, This Fic is completely Self-Indulgent, eventually, mentions of possible future mpreg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2017-12-31 07:19:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1028845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sang_argente/pseuds/Sang_argente
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is so fucking sick of werewolves and kanimas and hunters. He's just sick of everything. He wants to just leave all the supernatural bullshit behind, but there's a recently resurrected psycho that wants him to stay. Why is it so important that he does?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

If someone had told Stiles six months ago that his best friend would be bitten by a werewolf, he probably would've been a little skeptical, but willing to see some proof. If that same person had told him that his best friend being bitten by a werewolf would lead to Stiles being ignored, pushed around, kidnapped, and beaten, he would've rolled his eyes and told that person to move along. Because him and Scott were bros, right? And bros don't treat each other that way or let other people treat their bros that way.

However, no one had thought to give Stiles any such warning and now here he was. Post-kidnapping. A kidnapping that he had rescued himself from after some old guy, who turned out to be working with his bro Scott, kicked his ass, by the way. For no good reason.

Here he was, post-kidnapping, watching the girl he had thought was the love of his life use her love to turn her ex-boyfriend from murdering lizard to soft cuddly werewolf.

Here he was, post-kidnapping, watching this with his ex-bro, his ex-bro's ex-girlfriend, his ex-bro's ex-girlfriend's dad, the broodiest Alpha, and broody Alpha's previously-dead creeper uncle.

Seriously.

What. The. Fuck.

Thankfully, his jeep seemed to have survived the night because he needed a way home. Now. He was so fucking done with all the supernatural bullshit that always seemed to come with a side of 'screw Stiles over'. The next time something like this came up, Stiles was staying the hell away from it. It'd be better for him in the long run.

Stiles was so focused on being done with this shit that he didn't notice everyone had made their way out of the abandoned warehouse until he was left alone. All he had for company now was his own fast-paced thoughts.

"Figures," Stiles muttered to himself, climbing into his jeep and slamming the door. "Stiles Stilinski- there when you need something from me, ignored when you don't."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that."

"Oh, my God!" Stiles yelped, jerking around. There in the backseat, watching him in amusement, was Peter Zombie-Wolf Hale. "Why are you back there?! You're supposed to be dead, not in my car!"

Peter shrugged nonchalantly, waving a hand around. "Perhaps. But I missed you."

A high-pitched, hysterical giggle burst out of Stiles as he brought his hands up to cover his face. "I don't need your fancy wolf lie detector to know that's bullshit."

"You mean you didn't miss me at all?" Peter asked, his voice petulant _and holy fuck was he pouting?!_

Sobering a little at the memories of Peter and how things had been _relatively_ easy with him as the Alpha, Stiles couldn't stop himself from nodding. "Yeah, I guess I did."

"Interesting," Peter remarked in the same tone. He leaned forward, bracing an arm against the passenger seat as he took over Stiles's personal space. Supernaturally blue eyes locked on human amber, pupils dilating as their gazes held. After a few quiet minutes, Peter caught Stiles's scent and smirked. It was the usual mix of electricity and rain, with the new spice of Stiles's arousal. Apparently, coming face-to-face with most people's worst nightmare was what got Stiles hot and bothered. "Interesting."

Stiles wrinkled his nose at the deepening of Peter's voice before flushing deeply and looking away, embarrassed. "Oh, shut up. It's nothing."

"It's flattering," Peter corrected, running his free hand down Stiles's warm cheek softly. "Also, mutual."

Groaning tiredly, Stiles shook his head and moved to start up the jeep. "I so do not have the energy for this."

"You don't have energy?" Peter questioned disbelievingly. He watched Stiles as he maneuvered the jeep out of the warehouse and onto the highway to make his way home before speaking again. "You used to have endless energy. What happened while I was gone to make you so tired?"

A dull, half-hearted twinge of anger caused Stiles to tighten his fingers around the steering wheel. "You weren't _gone_ , Peter. You were _dead_. You were dead and everyone else was left behind to clean up your mess. Interestingly enough, no one wanted to pick up the pieces. Not even Derek."

"It was you then," Peter concluded, his voice quiet. "I had wondered when I got back and your father caught me in the supermarket. He didn't even blink before asking me about the doctors in Switzerland. I must admit, I was caught a little off guard."

"Well, I couldn't say you were dead or kidnapped. They would have been looking for you or your body," Stiles answered, keeping all his focus on the road in front of him. "I think I knew, somehow."

"Knew what?" Peter asked, raising on eyebrow.

"That you would come back," Stiles replied quietly. "Or maybe I just hoped."

Peter looked at Stiles skeptically. "You hoped I would come back from the dead so badly that you made sure I would be able to slip back into my life when I did, unassisted."

Snorting loudly, Stiles shook his head and said bitterly, "You don't know what Derek is like as the Alpha. Besides, I didn't do it by myself; I had help."

"I can't imagine a single person who would help you create a life for a dead man," the werewolf said honestly, ignoring the slight against his nephew.

"His name is Danny Mahealani and he is an absolute wizard when it comes to computers," Stiles said, his voice sincere. "All it took was a few answers about what was going on in this hellhole."

"I'm impressed," Peter replied truthfully. "And grateful. It's made coming back from the dead easier than anticipated."

He couldn't tell if Stiles shrugged due to the shoulder movements needed to manipulate his behemoth of a vehicle into the driveway, but assumed he had when Stiles's scent went flat with indifference. Carefully climbing out of the jeep, Peter followed Stiles into his house, quietly matching his steps until they were in Stiles's bedroom.

Stiles ignored his werewolf stalker and sat at his desk, booting up his laptop. Forget all the supernatural bullshit, he had an essay due for his English class next week and no idea where to start.

"Why aren't you sleeping?" Peter asked, his voice curious. "I thought you said that you were tired."

"I am exhausted," Stiles admitted. "But sleep doesn't come easy when your mind is in overdrive because you're constantly terrified that you're going to wake up to an angry werewolf or a sadistic old man."

"Derek and Gerard," Peter stated harshly, his eyes wide in surprise. When Stiles nodded, Peter came forward to pull him out of his chair and carried him to the bed, his werewolf strength ensuring that he didn't have to strain under Stiles's weight.

It was slightly uncomfortable for Stiles, who had never had anyone put him to bed before. Was Peter taking off his shoes? Stiles wiggled a bit in protest when he felt Peter's hands go up his legs from his feet to his waist. "What are you doing?"

"I'm sure you'd be more comfortable out of your jeans," Peter answered as he carefully pulled Stiles's pants down and off. "There's probably not anybody who enjoys sleeping in their clothes."

"Stripped many people then?" Stiles asked, his voice muffled as Peter pulled his shirt over his head. "Besides, I already told you that I can't sleep."

"You will because I'm going to look after you," Peter commanded gently, resting lightly on the bed beside Stiles. "Nothing is going to hurt you while I'm around."

Stiles hummed a little before giving up and moving closer to Peter, carefully laying his head on Peter's chest. He was quiet when he spoke next. "You're so nice for a psychotic mass murdering werewolf. Why is that?"

"I'm only this nice to you," Peter said honestly. "You are so special, Stiles, and it amazes me every time someone fails to notice that. How Derek doesn't notice angers me because his entire pack takes advantage of you when they should practically be worshiping you."

"That's flattering," Stiles replied dryly, Peter's steady heartbeat thumping underneath Stiles's ear where it was pressed against Peter's chest. "Especially since you truly believe that. Why?"

"Sleep, Stiles. We'll talk about it later," Peter commanded.

"Alright, alright," Stiles agreed, closing his eyes and snuggling closer. "Goodnight, Zombie-Wolf."

***

Shockingly enough, Stiles actually slept the entire night without even a fragment of a dream. When he woke up, he was even in the exact position he'd been in when he fell asleep- something that had never before happened in his life. It was obviously the result of some werewolf magic, seeing as Peter was still lying beside him docilely. In fact, the room was so calm that Stiles was confused as to why he had woken. That is, until the loud knocking of his father punched through the silence.

"Stiles, you in there?"

"Yeah, Dad," Stiles called back, inwardly panicking at the idea that, at any moment, his dad could open his bedroom door and see him in bed with Peter Hale. "What's up?"

"I just wanted to check on you before I headed out," his dad answered, hesitating a bit.

Sitting up, Stiles rolled his eyes at Peter who was watching him in amusement. The werewolf rolled out of bed gracefully, brushing his hands down his body as if to knock invisible wrinkles from his clothes. It was at this moment that Stiles remembered he was practically naked. A heavy flush covered his cheeks and he glared at Peter when the man silently laughed at his embarrassment.

"I'm fine, Dad," Stiles replied loudly, skittering around his room to pull on some clothes, ignoring the attentive gaze following his every move. If Peter thought getting dressed was something Stiles did attractively, then so be it. He had bigger things to worry about right now.

"Alright," his dad sighed. "I'm gone then. I love you, son."

Oh, look at that. A wild lump appeared in Stiles's throat. It had been a while since he'd heard his dad say that, mainly because he wasn't very touchy-feely, and he knew that he was only saying it now because Stiles had mysteriously disappeared for a few hours only to turn up with strange bruises and a weak excuse, but it meant a lot to him anyway. Stiles cleared his throat roughly, choking out a response. "Yeah, Dad. Love you, too."

There was a short pause before Stiles heard his dad's footsteps shuffle down the stairs. He slumped weakly, the hoodie he'd grabbed from his desk chair falling out of his hands as he brought them up to rub frantically across his face.

"He's worried about you," Peter said quietly from where he was sitting on the edge of Stiles's bed. "There's a lot of negative emotions in his scent. Does he always drink so much?"

The lump in Stiles's throat grew larger. Sighing sadly, he crossed his arms over his chest tightly and turned to face his favorite creeper. "He did for a while, after Mom died, but he slowed down eventually. He's probably started drinking heavier again because of me."

Peter quirked an eyebrow. "Because of you? What do you mean?"

Stiles shrugged weakly, keeping his eyes down. "Ever since Scott got bit, it's been lie after lie and he knows I'm lying but can't figure out why. I mean, I've always been nosy and a bit of a troublemaker but this past year he's caught me at multiple crime scenes, with several suspicious people, and now I have a restraining order against me. For God's sake, he lost his job because of me. And it all started because I couldn't keep my nose out of things. I don't even know why I constantly find myself knee deep in this bullshit. I have nothing to do with it."

"Nothing?" Peter questioned, a little uncomfortable with the emotionality in Stiles's voice. He knew it was only because of the great love Stiles had for his father but after nearly seven years without love like that, Peter didn't really know what to do with it. Instead, he focused on what he did know how to take care of. "I can assure you, you most certainly are."

Dark freckles twitched as Stiles's face contorted in resignation. "You gotta be kidding me."

Shaking his head, Peter replied, "You are so important, Stiles. I know that, for some strange reason, you don't believe that you're even really part of Derek's pack but you are, in fact, second in importance only to the Alpha."

"Oh, yeah? And why is that?" Stiles asked bitingly. "What makes me so special?"

"The emissary of a werewolf pack is always special, Stiles."


	2. Chapter 2

“If this is a joke, it's not very funny,” Stiles said flatly, staring at Peter.

Peter's expression softened from harsh seriousness to tender understanding. He moved forward cautiously, a pleased smile flickering over his face when Stiles let him, and pulled the young man close to him. “I wouldn't do that,” he said quietly, ignoring the heat that flared in him when Stiles shivered from Peter's soft breath against his skin. “I'd never be so cruel to you, Stiles.”

Relaxing against Peter, Stiles laid his head against the man's shoulder and turned his face into his neck. “You've never lied to me before, Peter. I'd be damn near heartbroken if you started now.”

“I wouldn't,” Peter swore again, tightening his arms around Stiles. He pressed a careful kiss against the thin skin of Stiles's temple and then another when the boy did nothing more but tremble and move closer. “I'm here with you, Stiles. I'm here _for_ you.”

“Thank you,” Stiles murmured into Peter's neck, his voice soft and strained. Clearing his throat, he pulled himself together and away from Peter. A pale hand came up and scrubbed over his face, leaving the skin pink as he looked at the werewolf in front of him. “Alright, what now?”

Peter took Stiles's hand and tugged him over to the door with the intent to lead the boy downstairs. “I'm sure you have questions. Why don't we discuss them over lunch?”

“Sounds great,” Stiles answered, lighter now that his initial fears and worries were soothed away. He grinned at Peter and followed him down to the kitchen, soft footfalls sounding through the house's still air.

“I do have one question for you, though,” Peter commented, reaching to pull a few seemingly random things from the cabinets. Stiles could recognize a few spices and a strange type of pasta that he had picked up from a health food store a few weeks ago. When Peter moved to the refrigerator, Stiles was close behind, trying to take a peek at what he was getting. He didn't move until Peter shooed him away to the table.

“It can't be too important if it's taken you this long to bring it up,” Stiles said, watching the older man move about the kitchen with an enviable grace. “What is it?”

Peter laughed softly. “You're right, it's not terribly important. I was only wondering how you knew what an emissary was.”

Shrugging, Stiles rested his chin on his hands. “I came across the term a few times at the beginning but didn't really put much thought into it. Figuring out werewolves seemed a bit more important at the time. When Deaton mentioned something about me being a spark, I went back and did some research.”

“Why didn't you say anything? If you had told Derek, I'm sure he would have given you a bit more respect.”

“I don't want him to know,” Stiles admitted, eyes carefully following Peter. “I know you say that the emissary is special in a pack but as far as I'm concerned, he's not in my pack.”

Spinning around to face Stiles, the werewolf stared at him in confusion. “He's not in your pack? Why not?”

Stiles snorted inelegantly. “Please. I may be a follower but that doesn't mean I'm going to serve just any Alpha. Derek is practically the textbook definition of 'bad Alpha' and I know more about what's going on than Scott does.”

“So you're an Omega emissary?” Peter questioned, turning back to the stove where pasta was starting to boil. “I don't think I've ever come across one like you before.”

“No, I have a pack,” Stiles corrected with a secretive smile. “It just doesn't include Derek or Scott as my Alpha. The way Deaton explained it, the Alpha that an emissary bonds with first is the only Alpha the emissary can serve, even if they join a different pack.”

“I wasn't aware that you knew any other Alphas,” Peter said, moving to drain the pasta before adding some spices to a different pan where sauce was simmering. “In fact, I wasn't even aware that you knew about Scott.”

“Honestly? How could Scott be anything other than a True Alpha?” Stiles shook his head, looking at Peter with a raised eyebrow. He smiled that strange smile again before continuing. “You're right, though. I don't know any other Alphas. But I did once.”

Stiles was watching Peter closely and still barely managed to catch the slight hitch in the werewolf's movements. If he hadn't been specifically focused on Peter's hands, he probably would have never saw it.

“Stiles,” Peter said firmly, turning the stove off and moving to mix the sauce into the pasta. “If this is a joke, it's not very funny.”

“I wouldn't do that,” Stiles whispered, barely aware of repeating Peter's promise from earlier, as he watched Peter invade his personal space. He stared up into hard blue eyes, his heart steady as he spoke. “I'd never be so cruel to you, Alpha.”

Peter's hand shook as he brought it up between them, resting it firmly against Stiles's chest. “You're not lying.”

Shaking his head, Stiles ran his tongue along his lips carefully. It felt as if there was a fire igniting in him, drying up all the moisture in his throat and mouth. “I'm not. I haven't. You are my Alpha, Peter, and you have been since I _willingly_ gave up control in that parking garage. Do you think I submit to just anyone like that? Give me some credit.”

“I died,” Peter choked out, struggling to keep his suddenly unsheathed claws from cutting into Stiles's flesh. “I can't be your Alpha because I died.”

Stiles smiled up at him softly. “Magic is a lot wiser than us.”

The kitchen around them blurred and darkened as Peter pulled Stiles closer, holding him tightly to his chest. It was a more intense mimicry of the embrace they had been in earlier. This time, however, they could both feel the concentrated tingling that sparked across their skin as an acceptance of their bond. 

Stiles sighed happily at the feeling of being tied to someone. Yes, he could feel the bond between him and Scott and, to a lesser extent, him and his dad, but this was different. This was a fully recognized pack bond between an emissary and an Alpha.

It.

Was.

 _Awesome_.

-x-x-x-x-

“My dad will be home soon,” Stiles murmured quietly from his place on top of Peter. Who knew that an ex-creeper zombie wolf would be more comfortable that Stiles's pillow top mattress? Well, Stiles did now, seeing as Peter had convinced him to relax and nap after lunch. He didn't think he'd ever give up any opportunity that might come up in the future to cuddle with his Alpha.

Peter continued to stroke his hand over Stiles's back, humming softly. “You think I should leave.”

Tilting his head up, Stiles met Peter's eyes sorrowfully. “He doesn't know anything, Peter. All he knows is I've been in a shitload of trouble the past few months and I keep lying about it. I'm pretty sure he thinks I'm doing drugs or I'm in a gang. Hell, maybe both, I don't know. If he comes home and sees me laying on an older man, he's not going to see an emissary bonding with his Alpha. He's going to see an underage twink with his sugar daddy.”

A low, rough laugh fell out of Peter, sending trembles through Stiles. Unfortunately for Peter, Stiles didn't see the humor. In fact, that little chuckle actually kind of pissed Stiles off. He pushed himself up, removing himself from Peter's space until he was standing next to the couch and staring down at his Alpha. Hurt pulsed through him, seeming to scrape against all the jagged edges left behind by the other people who had hurt him in his life.

Peter's laughter ended abruptly as he sat up, his eyes flashing the cool blue of his wolf. “Stiles, come here.”

Crossing his arms, Stiles shook his head. He knew it was foolish to disobey his Alpha but since Peter's wolf was actually recognized as a Beta, it wasn't impossible. If Peter wanted to be cruel and hurtful, then he would just have to deal with Stiles being disobedient and defensive. There would be nothing the werewolf could do about it, short of getting physical.

“Stiles,” Peter repeated firmly. “Come here.”

Slowly, reluctantly, Stiles moved forward until he was just close enough for Peter to touch him. Thankfully the werewolf refrained. If he hadn't, Stiles might have lost control.

“What?”

“I wasn't laughing at _you_ ,” Peter explained carefully, keeping a close watch on Stiles's hands where they were clenched into fists at his sides. “I was laughing at the idea. It's an amusing picture. Our dynamic doesn't work that way. As Alpha and emissary, we are equals. There may be those more ignorant wolves, like my dear nephew, who don't realize your importance and thus think I hold power over you, but that's not true. We provide and care for each other, we lead and follow each other, we dominate and obey each other. I've never wanted anything more, Stiles.”

“Not even revenge against the Argents?” Stiles asked skeptically, unable to take Peter at his word. Sure, it all _sounded_ exactly like what Stiles had read and had hoped for, but what if it wasn't? What if Peter's innate dominance crushed Stiles's hard-earned control? What if Stiles's stubbornness caused Peter to back down too far? How could they possibly work out then?

Peter was quiet for a moment, lost in his own thoughts. His eyes were dull and unfocused, as if he was looking far away at something only he could see. Stiles could see the anger and grief that fluttered across the older man's face before he spoke. “I admit that revenge was my only reason for being for a long time. The idea of revenge helped me heal from something that no human would ever be able to survive. But the want I have for this, for _you_ , is different. It's better. It's. . .cleaner, somehow.”

Stiles moved even closer, bringing his hands up to rest on Peter's shoulders. The meaning of what Peter was saying pressed heavily on Stiles's mind. Something like this- a relationship like this- was serious and important. This was the kind of relationship that people committed to, that you couldn't just walk away from whenever things started getting difficult. Stiles desperately wanted that kind of security and he wanted it with Peter.

“Do you really mean that?” Stiles asked shakily, trying to not let his emotions overwhelm him.

Smiling up at Stiles gently, Peter shifted to take Stiles's hands in his own, tangling their fingers together carefully. “You may not be able to sense a lie in the manner of werewolves, but if you would like, our bond will grow until you will be able to sense all of my emotions and intentions, not just lies. As such, in instances like this, you will know that I'm not lying.”

For one moment, Stiles's heart stopped. He heard what Peter was saying, but he could also _feel_ it. The sheer belief that Peter had in Stiles's abilities was actually causing those abilities to kickstart. In that moment between Stiles's last heartbeat and the next, he was flooded with a wave of honesty, affection, want, and a heavy sort of disbelief. Or was it sadness? All Stiles could really feel was the negativity of it. He wanted to ask, but before he could Peter pulled away abruptly.

A few seconds after Peter pulled away, Stiles heard his father's cruiser pull into the driveway. He shot a glance at the suddenly tiny space between the front door and the couch where he and Peter were. How could he possibly wiggle his way out of what was turning into the worst possible situation he'd ever placed himself in? The heavy sound of a car door being slammed kept Stiles frozen in place, unable to do anything.

“Don't worry, Stiles,” Peter whispered quickly, rising from the couch and pressing a short kiss to Stiles's temple. “I'll go upstairs to your room and use my nephew's favored entrance. You'll know how to find me when you're ready.”

Stiles wanted to answer him, wanted to reassure his Alpha that he would find him later, that he would take care of his father, but he couldn't. All he could do was stare wide-eyed at the doorknob turning, barely even hearing Peter make his escape. He stood there gaping at his father as the man entered and closed the door behind him. He couldn't do anything until his father him.

“Stiles?” the sheriff asked, his brow crinkling in confusion at the unexpected sight of his son just standing in the middle of the living room awkwardly. “What are you doing?”

“Um,” Stiles said stupidly, staring at his father. “I. . .don't know?”

The sheriff stared back at him. “You don't know?”

“Nope,” Stiles answered cheerfully, moving toward the kitchen now that he could actually feel his arms and legs. “Are you hungry? I have some pasta left over from lunch if you're hungry. You should have some. It's pretty good.”

Leading his dad into the kitchen, Stiles could feel his concerned gaze burning into the back of his neck. Instead of focusing on that, however, he focused on getting the pasta out of the refrigerator and dishing it out onto a plate for his father. Unfortunately, he noticed the lingering shakiness in his hands a second too late and watched the heavy casserole dish fall to the floor, shattering to pieces and splattering food everywhere. All he could do was stare at it in disbelief, tears of frustration and resignation blurring his vision.

“Stiles!” his father yelped, jumping back from the mess. “What's gotten into you?!”

Taking a deep, shaky breath, Stiles looked up at his father sadly. He wiped his cheeks futilely and sighed. This was what he'd been trying to avoid, ever since Scott was bitten. He couldn't do it anymore, though. It was time.

“We need to talk.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Okay,” Sheriff John Stilinski said slowly, watching Stiles in concern. “Okay, Stiles, we can talk. Why don't you go in the living room and I'll be there after I clean up this mess.”

Nodding shakily, Stiles moved around the broken dish and made his way into the living room. He collapsed on the couch and grabbed a pillow to clutch to his chest. He almost felt like if he loosened his arms, his entire body would shake apart.

A few long minutes later, Stiles's dad walked in, startling Stiles so bad he nearly screamed.

“Dad,” he choked out roughly, his throat tight and dry. “Hey.”

The deep frown on his father's face seemed to warn that he should just quit while he was ahead, keep all his secrets to himself. A quieter, safer feeling rose at that thought, pushing him to speak and making feel like everything would be better if he just told his dad everything.

His dad moved closer and sat next to Stiles on the couch. A warm hand fell on his shoulder as his dad spoke. “Stiles, I'm worried about you. You've been a completely different person for almost a year now. You lie and sneak around, you have a restraining order against you, you always show up in the middle of crime scenes. To be honest, I'm a little scared. I feel like I don't even know my own son.”

Stiles's heart stopped. The careful flatness of his father's voice let him know exactly how his dad was feeling. “Dad, I'm sorry. I've just. . .I got mixed up in some stuff a few months ago. I never meant to lie to you. It just sort of happened.”

“Is it drugs?” John asked, his voice resigned. “It's okay, Stiles. I'm not angry. I just want to help you get better.”

“You can't!” Stiles burst out, voice near hysterical. “You can't help me get better because I can't _get_ better.”

“I know you feel like that now,” John answered, obviously trying to stay calm. “But you can. We can find counselors, we can talk to some doctors or something. You _can_ get better.”

“Dad!” Stiles yelled, pulling away to look his father in the eyes. “It's not drugs!”

“Oh,” John paused, eyes narrowing. “Okay. . .Is it a gang?”

Stiles shook his head. “It's not a gang, Dad. You'll never guess it so will you please just let me tell you?”

The sheriff sighed heavily, suddenly looking every one of his days. “Stiles, if it's not drugs or a gang, I already know what it is.”

“Y-you do?” Stiles stuttered out, staring at his father in shock.

“I know I kind of gave you the shut down that night at that club and I'm sorry about that. I just wasn't expecting it. I wasn't thinking,” John said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe that's why you haven't told me before now and that's okay. I mean, I wish you had so I could help you and I'm not happy about you lying, but I guess I only have myself to blame.”

“No, Dad, it's not your fault,” Stiles refuted, shaking his head rapidly.

Apparently his dad didn't hear him because he just kept talking. “I just wish you realized that there's tons of guys that are better for you than Hale. Ones that don't have criminal records.”

“Those charges were dropped!” Stiles froze as his father's words caught up with him. “Wait, what are you talking about?!”

His dad looked at him strangely. “You dating Derek Hale.”

“ _Derek?!_ ” Stiles nearly shrieked. He could only imagine how Peter would feel if he could hear this conversation. It would probably be a mix of amusement and possessiveness, amusement at Stiles's discomfort and possessiveness at the thought of Stiles being with anyone but Peter himself. “I am _not_ dating Derek. I don't even think Derek even knows _how_ to date.”

“You sure?” his dad asked, obviously unconvinced but trying to hide it.

“Yes, I'm quite sure that I'm not dating Derek Hale!”

“Then what are you talking about?”

“Werewolves!” Stiles cried, exasperated.

Everything froze as Stiles and his dad stared at each other. The air itself was still and tense. Stiles couldn't hear anything but the rabbit fast pounding of his heart.

“Werewolves,” John repeated quietly.

Stiles nodded, staring at his father silently. Now that the dreaded word had thrown itself out into the space between father and son, all the other terrifying words wanted to follow. Words like _kanima_ and _hunter_ and _emissary_ all wanted to toss themselves into the air, wanted to hang there in open honesty. But Stiles couldn't say anything more because his father was talking again.

“What the Hell do you mean werewolves?” John asked, disbelief and amusement heavy in his voice. He was watching Stiles dubiously but not cruelly. He was willing to listen. Good.

“Scott's a werewolf,” Stiles answered. “So is Derek. But differently. Cause Derek was born a werewolf but Scott was Bitten. Actually, he was Bitten by Derek's uncle who was born a werewolf. Erica, Boyd, and Isaac were Bitten, too, but not by Peter. They were all Bitten by Derek. Except Lydia. She was Bitten by Peter but she didn't turn into a werewolf.”

“Wait, Peter is Derek's uncle? The one that was in a coma for years?” John asked incredulously.

“Yes,” Stiles replied, finding it was easier to talk with the more he said. “He healed because he's a werewolf and then he went on a killing spree by accident.”

“By accident,” John repeated. “How do you go on an accidental killing spree?”

“That's a little complicated,” Stiles admitted. “See, after the fire, when Derek and Laura left, the bond they had with Peter wore down until he couldn't recognize his niece when she came back. Not as his niece anyway. He recognized her as an Alpha and knew he could use her power to get revenge against the people that murdered his family.”

Now that Stiles was giving a somewhat clear explanation, his father was focused and understanding. “What does her being an Alpha have to do with anything?”

“Alpha werewolves are the leaders,” Stiles explained knowledgeably. “They are the head of their pack and, as such, are much more powerful than Betas. Other werewolves can become Alphas by killing an Alpha and basically stealing their power.”

“And Peter did this to Laura,” John said, nodding his head slowly. “Except he didn't mean to?”

Stiles shook his head. “No, he meant to kill the Alpha and take their power. He just didn't know he was killing his niece in the process. The fire and it's after effects sort of. . .broke something in him. When he woke up, he was solely focused on getting revenge.”

“Against the Argents,” John said, remembering when the news had come out.

“Yes,” Stiles answered quietly, a lingering anger rising in him at the thought of the hunter family. “That night you found me looking for Laura's body, Scott was with me and he got the Bite from Peter who was instinctively trying to build strength and stability in his new pack. Derek tried to reach out to Scott, help him learn his werewolf side so they could take down the Alpha. Derek killed Peter, with a lot of help, and became the Alpha. Then, he gave the Bite to Erica, Isaac, and Boyd.”

“Why would he do that?” John asked, anger clear in his voice.

Stiles hurried to explain. “He didn't do it like Peter. He asked, made sure they knew the benefits and consequences, and they all agreed. When he gave Jackson the Bite, it was different.”

“Jackson?” his dad asked. “Jackson Whittemore? Why did Derek give him the Bite?”

“He found out Scott was a werewolf and wanted to be one too,” Stiles answered, rolling his eyes. “Except he turned into something much worse.”

And with that, knowing that his father was hearing and believing him, Stiles went on to explain the complete clusterfuck of the past few months.

-x-x-x-x-

“So that's what you've been up to,” Stiles's dad murmured, looking a lot less tense and stressed than he had at the beginning of Stiles's story.

“Yeah,” Stiles replied, rubbing his hands together anxiously. “It's been really crazy and it's just now started to die down except not really because now I'm into something related yet not and it's still really hard to wrap my brain around.”

John's eyes narrowed. “You're into something else? You specifically, or you as in Scott?”

Stiles dropped his gaze and stared at his hands, watching his fingers twine around and around each other with detached interest. “Me specifically.”  
“What is it?” John asked, his voice calm and strong. After the way the man had handled the werewolf thing with considerable patience, Stiles knew that the emissary thing would go over just fine. Having a magical bond with a werewolf almost twice his age, however, might test the limits of his dad's composure.

“I'm an emissary,” Stiles quickly explained, not looking up. “It's sort of like a guidance counselor for a werewolf pack. You know, advising and giving comfort and watching. Except with magical powers.”

“And emissaries are common?” his dad questioned. “What do you mean magical powers?”

Stiles shifted guiltily. “Every pack has some sort of emissary, but what they do varies with how the pack is run. More traditional packs tend to keep their emissaries at arms length, not really speaking with them or involving them unless they're absolutely needed. The most common emissary powers are the manipulation of certain substances and sometimes a control over an element.”

Hazel eyes swiped over Stiles's form, collecting information in a way only an investigator could. “What about in your pack? Your powers?”

“I don't have a pack,” Stiles snapped, the stress of exposing himself finally wearing on him. His eyes widened in shock. He didn't snap at his dad. He lied and misdirected and snarked, but he didn't _snap_. It just wasn't what he did.

“Not at all?” Stiles's dad asked, ignoring Stiles's discomfort. He knew the long bout of truth telling was probably starting to feel like an interrogation to his son. “Not Scott or Derek and his pack? No one.”

“W-well, no,” Stiles admitted, careful with his answer. “I have an Alpha but he doesn't have a pack because technically he's not _an_ Alpha, just _my_ Alpha.”

“Peter Hale, I'm guessing,” his dad mused. “When you helped him find Derek?”

Stiles nodded, not really surprised that his dad was picking it up so quickly. Being sheriff required some brains after all. “Right. But, I mean, Derek's pack doesn't really have an emissary so I'm sort of temping with them? And if Peter ever becomes a fully integrated Beta with them, we're a package deal so I'll become their emissary but Peter will still be my Alpha. Emissaries only ever bond to one Alpha in their lifetime.”'

“And this bond, how does it work?”

“It's like a conduit,” Stiles answered promptly, eager to share his research with someone who didn't already know. Peter took all the fun out of explanations by just nodding wisely and he'd gotten most of what he'd learned from Deaton anyway so it was slim pickings. “Peter and I can share power, knowledge, emotions, the works, through our bond. We'll act as compasses for each other in battle, always knowing where the other is and how they're faring. Some of the most powerful emissary-Alpha bonds in history even documented telepathy and a few other neat tricks.”

“Is it-” John cleared his throat awkwardly, his face pained. “Are the bonds ever. . .intimate?”

Stiles flushed heavily, both at his father's question and at the thought of him and Peter being together that way. He hoped that their bond would develop that way, but he didn't really expect it to. A strong beautiful Alpha like Peter would eventually take a mate and have cubs, building his own pack within Derek's. Stiles wouldn't torture himself with the thought of tiny babies with dark freckles and blue eyes. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat before answering his father. “It can be, but isn't always. The more traditional packs usually bond with an emissary years after they start, with the Alpha having already mated and produced cubs.”

John sighed heavily, “Stiles, that's twice now you've mentioned 'more traditional' packs. You and I both know Derek's pack is so far away from traditional it might as well be abnormal. Just lay it out for me straight and we'll work through it. Stop trying to sidestep the truth.”

“You're right,” Stiles choked out, curling his arms around his chest. “I might as well just throw it all out there.”

“Thank you,” John said sincerely. “I know this might be hard, but it will be worth it in the end.”

Stiles nodded warily and started speaking so fast he was tripping over his words, anxious to get them out. “The truth is, Dad, that I'm more powerful than any emissary Deaton has ever seen. He's not even really sure how my powers might develop so we don't know how they'll affect anything. _I_ don't know how it will affect things with Peter. I want our bond to be like that. I want to be everything to Peter, including his mate and the mother of his cubs. _But I just don't know_. I can't predict the future, no matter what speculation Deaton has about druids and precognition. When you add in Derek and his puppies, it gets even more complicated because then I have to interact with Peter as my Alpha and as a Beta. That brings up questions about willingness and opportunity and permission. Will Derek let him take a mate? If yes, will he let it be me? Or will he choose for Peter? It's just so much to handle that I'd rather not think about it right now.”

“I get it,” John said softly, moving closer to sit next to his son so he could pull him into a tight embrace. “I get that you're under a lot of pressure, a lot more than a normal teenager. I'm sorry I pushed it. I was just hoping that asking would give me a little heads up for the future. That way I would be ready for when you brought home your werewolf boyfriend who's twice your age.”

“He's only twenty-eight,” Stiles interrupted softly, his fingers tangled in his dad's shirt. He pressed his face against his dad's chest. “Werewolves age differently.”

Humming quietly, John replied, “Ten years is still quite a bit of age gap. Especially in the state of California. Also, I don't particularly care much for being on television, so why don't you pack away those thoughts of cubs for the next few years? We can revisit them when _you're_ twenty-eight.”

Stiles laughed weakly, “Thanks, Dad. You're really great, you know?”

“Oh, I know,” John answered, tightening his arms around Stiles. “I've just been waiting for you to catch on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't want to name the sheriff John. Really. I wasn't even going to give him a name at all. then I got tired of typing "the sheriff" so whatever.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Danny comes up again in this chapter and he may seem a little OOC but I've always kind of seen him as just like Stiles, just more popular so that's how that happened. Hope you enjoy it anyway!

After two relaxing weeks at home with his dad, Stiles should have known something would happen sooner or later. Maybe he did realize, at least subconsciously, but he certainly wasn't expecting anything to happen during his weekly trip to the grocery store.

In hindsight, maybe it wasn't the best idea to try to speed up his shopping by not looking up from his list. Maybe then he would have been a little more prepared for running into the one person he wanted to see the least.

"Stiles."

He looked up from his list slowly, trying to keep his heartbeat calm and steady. "Heeey, Derek. Long time, no see. Not that I expected to. See, that is. What's up?"

Derek stared at him grimly, claws clinking against the wire of Stiles's cart. His eyes flashed red before he spoke. "Erica and Boyd."

"What about them?" Stiles asked through clenched teeth, turning away from Derek and his Alpha eyes under the pretense of checking the shelves. "I thought they left."

"They're back," Derek said shortly. "They want to see you."

Stiles tightened his fingers around the handle of the cart. He'd had nightmares about having to leave Erica and Boyd in that basement, the guilt and sadness weighing on him heavily. Some nights he would wake up still feeling the tingle of electricity in his hands from where he had attempted to help them down.

"The prodigal werewolves return and they want to see me?" Stiles asked quietly, suddenly having an idea of where Peter might have disappeared to these past two weeks. "Why?"

"I don't know," Derek answered harshly, his face twisting into a scowl of confusion and anger.

Stiles looked back down at Derek's claws and smirked. "But that wouldn't have anything to do with why you're so out of control, would it?"

Derek's jaw muscles went into overdrive, clenching and relaxing wildly. "Stiles. My Betas came back reeking of strange wolves and asked to see you before they decide to stay. I realize you don't know what it's like to have so much power and have to control it all the time, but it's a little difficult in situations like this."

"Send them to my house," Stiles said, ignoring Derek's dig at his abilities. It wouldn't be fair to get upset just because someone else was ignorant. "I'm not sure what they want with me, but I should tell you that my dad has a full stock of wolfsbane bullets. Just in case I should come up missing or injured, you understand."

Exhaling harshly, Derek let go of the cart and crossed his arms defensively. "I wasn't aware you told your dad about werewolves. Or that you were even thinking about it. You should have told me."

"Why?" Stiles asked, leaning forward against the cart as he lowered his voice. "Because you're _the Alpha_? Please, Derek, don't you think that line is getting a little overused? Especially since, at the moment, all you've got in your pack is two Betas, one of which can't be trusted to keep their bloodthirst in check."

"I'm taking care of Peter," Derek growled, his eyes flashing again.

Stiles raised an eyebrow, looking at Derek in amusement. "Who said anything about Peter? I was talking about Isaac."

"Isaac has control," Derek said, moving around the cart to come closer to Stiles.

Stiles watched the flexing claws warily, trying to keep his panic under wraps. It wouldn't do any good for Derek to be aware of the effect he had on Stiles, especially when he went all Alpha. He was just trying to come to terms with the inevitable end of his short life at the end of Derek's razor sharp claws when a voice called out.

"Stiles? Is that you?"

Spinning around, Stiles caught sight of Danny Mahealani at the other end of the aisle and sighed heavily as all the panic immediately drained out of him. Derek may have been a werewolf but Danny was the most bad ass person Stiles had ever met, excluding his dad. There was no way Derek would be able to do him any harm while Danny was around.

"Danny!" Stiles waved, smiling brightly. "I'm so glad to see you! Like, so glad. You will never know the level of ecstasy that I am feeling right now just from the sight of your lovely face."

Finally reaching Stiles, Danny gave him a slight grin before turning judgmental eyes on Derek. "Derek. Why don't you put the wolf away in public? We wouldn't want anyone to get hurt, would we? Especially not a small, defenseless puppy."

Growling lowly, Derek glared at Stiles one last time before turning to leave. As he walked away, the lingering tension slid away like it had never been there. Stiles rubbed his face roughly and turned back to Danny.

"You're a prince, Danny," he said honestly, his voice affectionate and grateful. "An absolute prince."

Danny swiveled his gaze from watching Derek's retreat to look at Stiles happily. "I don't like him. He's rude and has stupid hair."

Stiles laughed brightly. "Nobody likes him, but I'm trying. For reasons."

"Reasons being your supernaturally hot Alpha?" Danny asked slyly, loosening his stance now that Derek was completely out of sight. "I saw him in the city a few days ago. May I just say that he is looking fine?"

"Is he?" Stiles hummed, pushing his cart down the aisle. Maybe now he'd be able to finish his shopping and get back to the house before any other wayward werewolves decided to ambush him. "That's good. I haven't seen or heard from him lately, so it's good to know he's not dead."

A soft snort came at him from Danny. "I thought your magical soulmate bond would, like, sound an alarm or something if that happened."

"You're not funny," Stiles lied, ignoring his friend in favor of the large selection of peanut butter in front of him. "I liked you better when you didn't know anything."

"And I liked you better when you were too busy stalking Lydia to snatch up all the prime specimens of male," Danny sniped back, going through the other items Stiles had put into his cart before being surprise attacked by Derek. "But now we're friends and we're both disappointed."

"Are there refunds for friendships?" Stiles asked absently, finally caving and putting his favorite jar in the cart before moving on.

"God, I hope so," Danny answered as he followed. "Otherwise, I'd be stuck with you and I just discovered that you eat chunky peanut butter, you _animal_."

"You eat sugar," Stiles replied defensively. No one insulted his choice of peanut butter. Not even someone as perfectly wonderful as Danny. "With a _spoon_. Think about that before you decide to keep judging my culinary choices."

"It's like you're eating a perfectly good sandwich and then suddenly you're chewing on the bones of small children," Danny complained, picking up a box of Lucky Charms. He waited for Stiles's nod before dropping them in the cart and going on. "No one likes eating kiddie bones, Stiles. No one except _Satan_."

"No, you just like to rinse your digestive system with something that has the same texture as sand," Stiles said dryly, finally finding his way back to the front of the store so he could check out and leave. "Like an animal. Are you a chicken, Danny? Be honest."

Danny made a sad sound. "Chicken..."

"Oh, no," Stiles looked at him apologetically. "Is your mom still on that vegetarian kick?"

"She's thinking about going complete vegan," Danny cried out, his eyes wide and vulnerable. "Stiles, I will _die_. I haven't had bacon in a month. I don't even remember what it smells like."

"Well, I suppose since you did me a favor-"

"A favor? Try every favor ever," Danny interrupted.

Stiles glared at him for a moment before continuing. "Since you did me _every favor ever_ , I suppose I can return the favor. Erica and Boyd are coming over for dinner. They've somehow gotten back here and want to see me. Why don't you come, too? I'll make some steaks."

"Steak?" Danny asked excitedly, staring at Stiles hopefully. "Really?"

"Sure," Stiles answered, giving the cashier lady his card. "My dad will thank you."

Danny dropped to his knees and grabbed Stiles's hands tightly. "Stiles My-First-Name-Is-More-Confidential-Than-Nuclear-Launch-Codes Stilinski, would you do me the great and pleasing honor of marrying me?"

A heavy flush bloomed over Stiles's cheeks and he tried futilely to tug his hands away. "Oh, my god. Get up you weirdo, you're causing a scene."

"Not until you agree to be my bride," Danny said stubbornly, ignoring the blatant stares they were getting. "And cook for me always."

"I'm not sure about the marriage thing. You'll have to talk to Peter about that," Stiles teased gleefully. "But if you let go in the next thirty seconds, I'll make cheesecake for dessert."

Danny let go immediately, dropping back on his heels and lifting his hands in surrender. "Done."

" _Weirdo_ ," Stiles repeated earnestly.

-x-x-x-x-

"I thought you said I can't eat steak," Stiles's dad said in confusion, as he watched Stiles put groceries away. Unsurprisingly, it was nearly all bland and boring. The only thing of interest to him was the steaks.

"You can tonight," Stiles answered, closing the fridge and turning to look at his dad. "We're having some important guests over."

"What kind of guests?" John asked suspiciously, crossing his arms. "The supernaturally inclined kind of guests?"

Stiles met his dad's eyes unflinchingly. "Yes and no."

"Peter? Derek?" John questioned. "Or just Scott?"

Snorting harshly, Stiles shook his head. "Scott is uninvited until I decide he's done being a manipulative asshole. I haven't even talked to Peter in weeks and Derek is the one who told me I was having guests."

John threw his hands in the air and turned toward the dining room. "I don't like it when you make me guess things."

"It's not guessing, it's investigating," Stiles replied, laughter in his voice. "But it's Erica and Boyd. Oh, and Danny."

"The two runaways and Danny Mahealani," John repeated, looking at Stiles sharply. "All the time you two have been spending together and you didn't think to tell me Danny was a werewolf."

"He's not and they're not runaways. Well, not really. They were leaving Derek's pack because he's a shit Alpha, but he says they're back now and might stay if they talk to me first," Stiles said as he shook his head. "I don't know what that's about."

"Well, if that's why we're having steak, why don't we have them over all the time?" John asked, his voice serious but his eyes playful.

Stiles snorted again. "Very funny, Dad. Why don't you go spazz over your _one time only_ steak in the living room and leave me to cook in peace?"

"You're a tyrant," John shot over his shoulder as he went to do just that. "A tyrant, Stiles Stilinski! I don't know why I put up with you."

"Because filicide is illegal," Stiles shouted after him, moving to start on dinner. "And being the sheriff makes committing crimes a little difficult!"

"So you think!"

-x-x-x-x-

Right as Stiles finished setting the table, he heard the doorbell ring. Before he could call out to his dad, the door began to open.

"Stiles!" Danny called. "I'm here for the steak and I've brought puppies!"

Stiles turned to the doorway, catching sight of his dad who was shaking his head with an amused look on his face.

He shouted back to Danny. "Just bring them in here. Dinner's on the table!"

Heavy footsteps came closer and closer to the kitchen before Stiles finally caught sight of his guests. Danny had a bright grin stretching his mouth but one look at his eyes showed that he was worried. A quick glance at the two people behind him gave a good explanation why.

Erica seemed to have lost all the deadly confidence she had gotten with her transformation. She looked more like her old self; her hair was lank and dull, pulled back into a sloppy braid and her face carried the same tired paleness it had when she was still epileptic.

Boyd had changed more in the past two weeks than he had with becoming a werewolf. He looked smaller than Stiles had ever seen him, all quiet authority leeched away. Like Erica, he seemed to be shouldering a heavy burden and was giving out under its weight.

However, both of them had the same spark of hope in their eyes when they looked at Stiles.

"Hey, guys," he said, smiling at them gently and trying not to let on that his heart was breaking just from the sight of them. "Why don't we sit down and eat? You look like you could use a good meal."

Everyone settled in around the table, Stiles's dad sitting at the head while Stiles and Danny took one side and Erica and Boyd took the other. When everyone had a full plate and began eating, Stiles spoke up.

"Derek cornered me at the store earlier," he said lightly, watching as Erica and Boyd tensed. "He said you wouldn't stay without talking to me first?"

The two werewolves looked at each other for a long moment. A silent conversation went on between them, Boyd looking as tense as ever while Erica looked more and more pleading. Finally, after a few quiet minutes, Boyd sighed and turned to Stiles.

"Derek thinks we came back on our own," he said quietly, looking Stiles in the eye seriously. "We didn't. We didn't ever plan on coming back when we left. But things went bad. When we left, another pack of werewolves caught our scent. They were strange, bloodthirsty killers. We spent the past two weeks trying to keep away from them."

Erica put her hand over Boyd's and curled their fingers together. "We were two counties away deep in the woods when we caught a different scent. It didn't carry the same metallic smell of blood. Weird as it is, it kind of smelled like wolfsbane and some other familiar scent. We were confused at first. I mean, a werewolf that smelled like wolfsbane? That's weird."

Boyd took a deep breath and continued. "As it got closer, we realized that those two scents were just a top layer. Sort of how Danny's top layer is a mix of Armani and Hugo Boss. His aftershave is something he puts on, so it's not part of his natural scent."

"I don't wear Hugo Boss," Danny interrupted, his forehead crinkling in confusion.

A ghost of a smile fluttered across Erica's face. "No, but Jackson does. And you're around him so often that his natural scent becomes your top layer and vice versa."

"How do you know this?" Stiles asked, putting his fork down and resting his chin in his hands. It was all valid information that he had found in several books but it didn't seem like some instinct that Erica and Boyd had gotten through their turning. They had to have learned it somewhere. "I didn't think Derek's Werewolf 101 class was that comprehensive. I thought it just covered the uniform and having an awful attitude part."

Boyd snorted. "Derek's 'training' was intensive, but it mostly covered how not to get our asses handed to us in a fight."

Stiles tilted his head, frowning. "Derek loses fights all the time."

"Exactly," Erica said, a real smile coming up. "Just watch what he does and do the opposite. You'll win more that way."

A quiet laugh made it's way around the table before Boyd spoke again. "We learned it on the way back. Living in the wilderness is a sort of kick start for all sorts of werewolf powers."

Stiles nodded. "So this werewolf had a top note of a familiar scent and, what, you went looking for it?"

Erica shook her head. "He was looking for us. As he got closer to our hideaway, it started to smell a bit dark and wet. Kind of like the rain at night. It had a hint of something else though, like it had just changed recently for some reason."

"What was the last smell?" Stiles asked, getting an idea of where this was going.

"That's what's really strange," Boyd said, shaking his head. "The last smell wasn't there. It was like the smell itself was an absence of smell. It was really creepy. It reminded me of my grandma's funeral."

Stiles exhaled softly, tightening his muscles to keep from shaking. "Rain is often a symbol of rebirth or transformation. A sort of metamorphosis into something completely opposite from what you once were."

His dad looked at him sharply. "Like a person going through a drastic experience and coming out of it different from the person they were before?"

"Exactly like that," Stiles replied quietly, knowing his dad knew how the story would end now also. "And this werewolf found you?"

Erica nodded, reaching a hand up to brush a lock of hair that had fallen from her braid away from her face. "It was Peter Hale. He asked if he could talk to us and, after we said yes, he told us everything that Derek's been through since the fire. Including the part about having to kill him. He said that if we came back, he could teach us what we needed to know if we were in Derek's pack."

"We asked him why we should come back in the first place," Boyd continued, his voice serious and sad as he looked up at Stiles. "He said we should come back for you. That you would help us and protect us."

Erica's eyes started to glow Beta gold. "He said that you would build our pack into what it's supposed to be. A family."

Stiles's breath caught in his throat as he watched Boyd's eyes start to glow as well. He sat up and stared at them seriously.

"I will," he promised, watching their eyes flash. "I will build your pack into a family. I will protect it from harm and discord. I will advise it to the best of my ability. But it's not my pack. It will never be my pack."

Erica's nose crinkled. "Why not?"

"I have an Alpha," Stiles answered. "I've had him since before Derek even knew what being an Alpha meant. He is mine and I am his and my priority is his pack. It will always be his pack. But because of certain circumstances, I can work with Derek's pack until the time comes."

"Peter," Boyd stated, shocked. "Your Alpha is Peter. That second smell was medicine. That's why I got so confused. Why would a werewolf smell like wolfsbane and medicine? Two things that are either dangerous or useless to a werewolf."

"Unless that werewolf was spending a lot of time with someone who had that as a natural scent," Erica continued, her jaw dropping. "And who do we know that has medicine as a natural scent?"

Boyd stared at him, wide eyed. "Stiles. Who has taken adderall almost his entire life. Long enough for it to go deep."

Stiles stared back at them seriously, feeling a strange mixture of pride and apprehension. On the one hand, two of his favorite people were learning how to use their powers to the best of their ability. On the other hand, two of his favorite people were werewolves and had a scary array of powers. He waited for them to say something. When they did, it wasn't what he was expecting.

"How did you get Peter to become your Alpha?" Erica asked sharply.

"I submitted to him," Stiles answered, staring at her in confusion.

Danny snorted loudly. " _Yeah_ , you did."

Stiles blushed heavily. "I submitted to him just like any new pack member submits to their Alpha. He was still Alpha when it happened and I'm a special sort that only submits to one Alpha in a lifetime so when he came back from the dead he was still my Alpha despite being a Beta."

"So he can't be an Alpha for anyone else yet?" Boyd asked, his stance tense and solemn. "How would he be able to become an Alpha again?"

Stiles stared at the two werewolves across from him in disbelief. "You can't be saying what I think you're saying."

"Peter taught us more in two days than Derek taught us in two months!" Erica exclaimed, her voice loud and sincere. "It's obvious that he would be a way better Alpha in the first place. Why did you guys have to kill him?"

Stiles gaped at her, ignoring Danny's near hysterical giggles and his father's matching look of incredulity. "He was killing people! To death! A lot of people!"

"Bad people!" Erica almost shrieked. "If he hadn't have died, he'd still be an Alpha and then I wouldn't feel like I was signing a death warrant instead of joining a pack!"

"You want Peter to be your Alpha instead of Derek?" Stiles asked, feeling light-headed.

"Yes!" the two werewolves answered loudly.

Their voices were so loud, they seemed to reverberate inside of Stiles's head. Their submission bounced around his brain continuously, getting louder and louder, repeating more and more often. It was all getting crowded inside Stiles's brain as he felt like he was stretching across the room and compressing himself into a tiny box all at once. As his vision started to go dark and his body started to slide, he had one last thought.

_'Oh, look at that, Betas can still be Alphas of their own pack. Fantastic.'_


	5. Chapter 5

Most werewolves thought of the bond between pack members as something that just was, a connection that was as much a part of them as their wolves. Humans in packs envisioned the bonds as strings or cords tying each member to each other and the Alpha. Without experiencing the bonds like the wolves, it was the only way humans could comprehend the connection.

Emissaries were very different. Those with close ties to a pack knew the bonds didn't exist the way humans thought, but also knew that it wasn't as abstract as werewolves imagined. While there wasn't any physical representation, there was a feeling between pack members, a sort of merging between auras or souls or _something_ that made each pack member who they were. Each member had a presence in the other members' subconscious because of that merging.

Stiles's subconscious was a mess.

The conduit between him and Peter was currently flooding with _Alphaworryrageaffection_ and spreading throughout the rest of the pack. Stiles knew Peter was worried about him, simply from the vengeful edge to Peter's rage.

His dad and Danny were so close to each other, they were nearly sharing the same space. _Humanconcernlove_ seemed to be their most prominent feelings, so Stiles moved on to check the rest of the bonds.

Erica and Boyd were next, not as close or as open as Peter but closer than, say, Scott or Derek. Their combined feelings of _Betaregretworryhappiness_ let Stiles know that they were safe enough physically to spend time worrying about him.

Further out, Derek let out a hesitant wave of _Alphaconfusionangerworry_ , distant and vague because he was unaware of the bond building between him and Stiles.

On the very edge of his subconscious, Scott was giving off a veritable sea of emotions, all of them happy and bright. He was too far away for Stiles to get any sort of specificity through the bond, but he was still able to tell Scott's general safety.

That must mean that it was Stiles who was injured. What happened? Was there some kind of attack? No, he remembered being at home with his dad, Danny, and the Betas. All of his limbs were present and he didn't seem to be bleeding out, so why was everyone worried? He opened the bonds, pushing _safetycareconfusion_ back at everyone and reaching through to them.

The feelings got closer, sharper. He was drifting and expanding and...

-x-x-x-x-

"He's waking up!"

"Yes, Erica, we can see that."

"Well, excuse me for being happy that I didn't kill Stiles."

Stiles brought his hand up and rubbed at his face clumsily, groaning the entire time. His head was pounding and his whole body felt as if it was weighted down with cement. His joints and muscles ached, his ears felt stuffed with cotton, and his throat was scratchy and dry. All in all, it was very much _not fun_.

"Ugh," he groaned. "Why're you trying to kill me, Erica? Was the steak that bad?"

A large hand landed on his forehead, rubbing some of the tension out gently. When he finally opened his eyes, he saw Peter leaning over him, Erica and Boyd sitting in the floor, Danny leaning up against the wall, and his dad sitting next to him on the bed.

Bed?

"How long was I out?"

His dad sighed, patting his knee. "Only a few hours. We were waiting to see if you would wake up on your own or if we would need to take you to Deaton."

"Do not." Stiles said seriously. "Deaton is a last resort. A shady, unreliable, cryptic last resort."

"If it makes you feel better, I told them you would say that," Danny said, moving closer to the bed. He was careful to arm's length away from Peter, but had no problem getting close to Stiles's dad.

"A prince," Stiles muttered. He looked up at Peter curiously, taking in the flashing eyes and hint of fang in his smile. "Are you alright, Peter?"

"I'm fine, Stiles. After all, I love nothing more than gaining my own Betas and nearly losing my emissary in the same night. It's every Alpha's dream to have their pack tear itself apart by accident," Peter said, his sarcastic words and rough voice not affecting the careful hand that was now running over the fuzz of Stiles's buzzcut. Every now and then, Stiles could feel the soft prick of Peter's claws against his scalp.

He scrunched his nose up tightly and shook his head slightly. "Ugh, forced pack bonds. Zero out of ten, would not recommend."

Erica and Danny chuckled nervously, eyeing Peter timidly. Watching as his dad and Boyd shifted uneasily, Stiles knew that something bad had happened while he was unconscious. He had to talk to Peter.

"Guys?" He jerked his head to the door. "A minute, please?"

Everyone nodded and left, leaving him alone with his Alpha. His angry, out of control Alpha. Fantastic.

Tilting his head, Stiles pushed into the slight affection Peter was giving him. Even on the very edge, with the wolf shifting right beneath his skin, Peter was careful not hurt Stiles. He kept his touches light and tender, barely touching Stiles at all when his claws slid out.

"Peter? Talk to me."

Exhaling harshly, Peter shook his head. "I know it's not your fault, that you didn't do it on purpose, but I'm still angry. I'm nearly losing all control, as you can see. Stiles, I could have lost you tonight."

"It's okay to be angry." Stiles spoke quietly, moving his hand over to rest on the one Peter had laying on the bed. He traced a finger over the claws carefully, wrapping his fingers around Peter's when they slid in. "I would be angry if something strange happened to you while I was gone. But you have to realize that this was an accident. No one knew it would happen so we couldn't prevent it. It happens."

"That's exactly the problem." Peter shook his head, flipping his hand to hold Stiles's tighter. "How can I keep you safe like this? How am I supposed to protect you from accidents?"

Stiles smiled softly, looking into Peter's eyes and watching them settle. "As any Alpha does, I imagine. By having faith that I am strong enough to handle whatever it might be."

Sighing, Peter shook his head. "It's not whether you can handle what happens to you, Stiles. It's whether I can."

"Of course you can. That's what I have faith in."

A faint smile formed on Peter's face, contentedness smoothing his edges a little. As he gained control, the tension leaked out of him bit by bit. Soon he was even more relaxed than Stiles, who had been enjoying the impromptu head massage.

"What happened while I was asleep?" Stiles asked quietly, wincing a bit as Peter's grip tightened almost painfully.

"I could feel the bonds forming and I knew that it had to have been something you did," Peter said quietly. "I came over as quickly as I could, but I was too late to really do anything. You were already unconscious on the floor. You were so still and quiet, a Stiles I've never seen before. It was...unnerving."

"I could feel you," Stiles murmured as he pushed his head against Peter's hand. "You were so worried...and angry."

Peter nodded, his hand brushing against the side of Stiles's face carefully. "I couldn't stop shifting. I grabbed you and brought you up here. It was hours before I could get myself under control enough to let your father see you. Even longer before I would let the Betas in."

"And Danny?"

A soft growl vibrated in Peter's chest as his claws snapped out, sliding against Stiles's skin dangerously.

"Peter?"

"Your human friend came in with your father." Peter exhaled slowly and relaxed his grip, petting at Stiles's head apologetically after his claws slid away. "He...said some things that I was not happy to hear."

Stiles tilted his head until he was looking Peter in the eyes. "What things?"

Smirking slightly, Peter shook his head. The look on his face told Stiles that Peter, while he had been angry in the moment, was reluctantly impressed. He had seen that look on Peter's face many times after first meeting the werewolf.

"It was something along the lines of Scott's declaration to Derek."

"'You may be an Alpha, but you're not mine'?" Stiles quoted, incredulous. "Are you serious?"

"Well, it was quite a bit more eloquent and not as harsh," Peter admitted. "He was very worried about you. What is he to you, exactly?"

Oblivious to the danger in Peter's voice, Stiles shook his head. "Danny? We're just friends. I think he likes Isaac."

"Derek's angel-faced Beta?" Peter asked, his voice mild and uninterested.

"Yes. At least, I think so," Stiles shrugged a bit and shook his head again. "It doesn't matter anyway because Danny knows he's not my type."

"Male?"

Stiles laughed a little, looking up at Peter wonderingly. "Seriously? No. I don't care that he's a guy. I thought you of all people would know that."

Raising an eyebrow, Peter shook his head. "Why would I know something like that?"

"Can't werewolves smell things like arousal?"

"We can, but unless we already know the reason why someone is aroused, like during sex, it's just another emotion. Humans feel things all the time. Trying to pinpoint the reason behind certain emotions is actually quite difficult."

"I never thought of it like that," Stiles admitted. "It makes sense though. It also makes me feel a little less uncomfortable with the thought of nearly all my friends being able to smell my emotions."

Peter shifted carefully, making himself more comfortable on the bed, and nodded. "I imagine that, to someone who has only been around a werewolf for a short time, it would be a little unsettling."

"Only a little." Stiles bit his lip nervously, looking at Peter out of the corner of his eye. "Can I ask you something?"

"You can ask me anything, Stiles." Peter pulled the human close, cradling him against his own body softly. "I'll always do my best to answer."

Exhaling shakily, Stiles brought his hand forward to pick at Peter's shirt while he spoke. "Why did you go after Erica and Boyd? Did you want Betas? Or did you just want someone in your pack who wasn't me?"

"First, you must know this. There is no one that I would rather have in my pack than you, Stiles," Peter said quietly, keeping Stiles close as he began to stroke lightly against his skin again. "I will never try to replace you. And that is why I went after Derek's misplaced Betas."

"I don't understand," Stiles admitted, trying to keep his happiness at Peter's answer to himself. There was no reason to let Peter know exactly how his words made Stiles feel. Feelings were private, after all.

"You were worried about them, wondering if they were safe or even alive. I brought them back to make you happy," Peter confessed. "After all, an emissary who is pleased with his Alpha will try harder to please the Alpha. It was the most advantageous choice."

Stiles snorted, rubbing his cheek against the smooth material underneath his face. "And you're all about advantages. It's okay, I know you just did it because you're a softy."

"I am _not_ soft," Peter objected, swatting at Stiles lightly. "I am a devious mastermind werewolf."

"Mmm," Stiles hummed in agreement. "Whatever you say, puppy."

Peter scoffed. "I take it back, I am replacing you."

"Alright, but can it wait until tomorrow? It's been a long day."

Sighing quietly, Peter closed his eyes and continued his petting. "I suppose tomorrow will be soon enough. Get some sleep."

"Goodnight, Peter."

"Goodnight, Stiles."

-x-x-x-x-

Every modern day teenager knows to put their phone on silent when they go to sleep, unless they want to wake up every five minutes to a new text. Unfortunately for Stiles, he had to keep his phone turned up if he didn't want to miss any sort of supernatural emergency. It leads to a lot of sudden waking and squinting at bright screens in complete darkness.

Like now.

_From Derek:_ erica and boyd are staying. come to house at noon for info.

Really? That's how Derek is going to play this?

Stiles shook his head and fought to type out a reply. God, he was so tired.

_To Derek:_ that was so important you just had to tell me at 5am? go to sleep der god.

The screen didn't even have enough time to dim before a new text appeared.

_From Derek:_ its important to the pack. everyone in the pack. even peter.  
 _From Derek:_ and don't call me der.

Stiles snorted and flopped over onto his back. It wasn't until Derek's message that he had even noticed that Peter was gone. He hadn't really thought he would get to spend the night laying with Peter, especially not with his dad around. His dad who knew...what he knew. But it would have been nice if the werewolf had told Stiles he was leaving.

Then again, he probably would have whined about being woken up, just like he was doing now. Only now there was no one to hear him.

_To Derek_ : fine mr grumpy gills. good luck getting an answer out of peter tho. hes probably sleeping. like everyone else in beacon hills except you.

_From Derek:_ stop with the nicknames or get mauled.  
 _From Derek_ : and peter said he would show if you did. said he'd know.

Snorting again, Stiles wiggled against the sheets and brought up a new text.

_To Peter:_ way to be a fucking creep.  
 _To Peter:_ also your nephew is a fun sucker.

Like things late at night after little sleep tended to do, calling Derek a fun sucker was so funny it sent Stiles into a fit of quiet giggles. As did the next set of messages he got.

_From Peter:_ I live to serve. And I'm afraid he's always been a sourpuss.

_From Derek:_ you seriously didn't just text peter and call me a fun sucker.  
 _From Derek:_ he's never going to let this go. thanks.

Stiles was waking even further with each message. Sure, he was a little tired and he would probably regret getting up this early when he had to be at Derek's at noon, but this was just too much fun.

_To Derek:_ he called you a sourpuss. thats adorable.

_To Peter:_ go to sleep. youre gonna need the energy to carry my tired ass thru whatever derek wants later.

He stood and started making his way to his closet. If he was going to get out of bed, he might as well enjoy a hot shower while he was up. He was grabbing a random shirt when his phone chimed.

_From Peter_ : I'll always have energy for anything to do with your ass, darling.

_From Derek:_ house. noon. be there.

Stiles tried to fight down the butterflies that exploded in his stomach at Peter's words. The images his mind were conjuring flipped through his thoughts at lightning speed. Was Peter just being a creep again? Or was it more? In any case, this wasn't the right time to bring it up.

Also, Stiles noted to himself, Derek apparently got even more taciturn than usual when called adorable. It was too bad for him that Stiles wasn't exactly the type of person that let this sort of information go.

_To Peter:_ sleep creeper. ill see you at noon.

_From Peter:_ I'll be counting the hours.

Scoffing, Stiles left his phone on the bed and went off to the bathroom. It was time for his shower. If, while he was in there, he thought back over some of Peter's words- well, it's not like anyone else would know.

-x-x-x-x-

"This better be good, Derek," Stiles said loudly as he jumped down from his jeep and slammed the door. "Getting up this early is potentially fatal for my people."

Jackson, who was sitting at the edge of the Hale house porch with Lydia on his lap, sneered. "What people would that be, Stilinski? _Idiots_?"

Erica growled loudly from where she was laying, head in Boyd's lap and body stretched across the grass, but Stiles waved at her calmly.

"Now, now. There's no need for all the hostility," Stiles replied, although it was difficult to tell whether he was talking to Erica or Jackson. "All I meant was that we're clearly not here for a party so it must be something pretty important to rally the troops."

Isaac spoke up from where he was sitting. "I thought we were all here because Erica and Boyd came back?"

A tingling on the back of Stiles's neck warned him of Peter's presence just seconds before the man spoke, his voice airy and light.

"Hmm, came back, rescued, it's all the same these days."

Stiles turned to look at his Alpha, just in time to miss Boyd's little flinch. For someone who had been up so early, Peter looked quite fresh. He was relaxed and clean, with bright eyes and an alert sort of posture.

It was disgusting.

As if Peter could read his mind, the man smirked at him suddenly.

"What's the matter, Stiles?" He asked, oozing fake concern. "Getting a little _tired_ of all the sour grapes in our little bunch of werewolves?"

Stiles snickered, but was cut off before he could say anything in response.

"That's enough," Derek said as he came through the door to the house and closed it behind himself. He stepped to the side and pointed at a painted symbol on the door. "This is why we're here."

"What does it mean?" Lydia asked, tilting her head and squinting her eyes. Stiles recognized the moves as Lydia's signature 'I'm reviewing new information and it's more important than you' look.

"A pack is coming," Derek answered. "A pack of Alphas."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> like always everyone who enjoyed this chapter can come party with me here. if you didn't enjoy this chapter, i'm sorry but you have to party somewhere else :(
> 
> also i'm doing some quick fics for steterweek october 25th-31st so drop me a line here or on tumblr if you want to know some more about that :)


	6. Chapter 6

_"A pack is coming," Derek answered. "A pack of Alphas."_

All Stiles could hear was the soft rush of wind through the trees. The pack stared at Derek dumbly, no words to be found.

"What," Jackson croaked out, face pale and hands shaking, setting of a chain reaction.

"How the hell can you have a _pack_ of Alphas?" Erica screeched as she jumped out of Boyd's lap. "How would that even work?"

Isaac started pacing furiously. "How many are there?"

"Why do they even exist?" Lydia asked, seemingly calm and collected but Stiles could see her fingernails digging into Jackson's shoulder even if he was too shocked to even flinch.

Derek sighed heavily. "They're sort of the council of werewolves. Any time a werewolf gains Alpha status or a new pack starts gaining attention, they come around to check in on things."

Isaac and Jackson immediately relaxed but Erica and Boyd jerked around to look at Peter. It was the first actual sign of their deference that Stiles had seen.

Of course, Peter took the opportunity to be dramatic eagerly. Walking over to Derek, he laid a hand on his shoulder and smirked.

"What Derek is trying to ignore is that they aren't just a council. When the Alpha Pack comes around, they are most definitely acting as judge, jury, and executioner. And they only come around when the attention a new pack is getting is bad attention."

"Like several dead bodies bad attention," Stiles finally spoke up, his pack bonds flaring slightly under the Betas' sudden and intense awareness. He tilted his head and sighed. "Of course, the Omega roaming around pack territory also causes problems."

Derek scowled. "Hopefully that won't still be a problem by the time the Alphas get here."

"Wait, what Omega?" Jackson sneered.

"Why, little Scotty," Peter said. "Don't you think that if he were part of the pack he would be here?"

Crossing his arms defensively, Stiles turned away with a frown. "I did text him to ask what he might be doing today, but I never got an answer."

"Wait, I thought Scott was a Beta," Lydia interrupted, flinching slightly as Erica glared at her hatefully but ignoring her. She turned to look at Peter with cold eyes. "You bit him when you were an Alpha, that made him a Beta, right?"

Something in Stiles wanted to scream out that Peter was _still_ an Alpha, was _his_ Alpha. That that knowledge should be kept secret didn't seem to matter in the face of a challenge on his Alpha's suitability. Only the way Erica and Boyd looked as if they wanted to scream the same and Peter's own expression of amusement held him back.

"If Scott had accepted me as his Alpha, then he would have been my Beta, yes. However," Peter drawled when Lydia looked triumphant. "not only did he fight me every step of the way thus leading to his Omega status, but if he _had_ accepted then we wouldn't even be having this discussion."

"What do you mean?" Erica asked when it became clear that Lydia wasn't going to.

Peter laughed. "Because with a Beta, I would have been stabilized. With two, even more so- and Derek was on the verge of accepting when Scott decided to rebel. Nothing looks better to the Alpha Pack than a tiny, stable pack not looking to expand or claim new territory. They would have come and gone within days."

"But that's not what happened," Stiles interrupted, glaring at Peter in warning. If he got any further into his 'I would have been a better Alpha' speech, that was their hand tipped. "So now we have to come up with a plan that shows our pack in a good light to the Alphas and that resolves the Scott situation."

Everyone fell silent, the heavy weight of expectations crushing any desire to talk.

Finally, after everyone had gotten comfortable and was employing Stiles's usual way of dealing with problems, Isaac spoke up hesitantly.

"Can't Scott just...join our pack?"

All the silence of the past quarter hour was obliterated. Erica was growling, Jackson was scoffing, Lydia was huffing, and Boyd was rumbling. Derek, of course, was letting his disbelief at Isaac's question be known solely through his eyebrows which, Stiles assumed, were valiantly trying to become one in the center of his forehead.

It was Peter that had the decency to answer.

"Of course he could," he said, using that slow and falsely patient voice adults used when explaining things to children. Alright, Stiles conceded to himself, so Peter didn't actually have that much decency. He was basically nothing but an unrepentant asshole. "If he hadn't spent the last two weeks lying to Derek and betraying this pack."

Derek growled from his place leaning against the doorway.

Unfazed, Peter waved a hand at his nephew and continued. "And then there's the whole issue of him making Derek bite Gerard against his will."

Stiles shivered. He had gone along with a lot of Scott's dumb plans in the spirit of brotherhood, but if he had known about that before it had happened, he would've done anything to stop it. The whole situation was just too... _non-consensual_ for his comfort.

"Scott is a problem," Derek confirmed, scowling. "But it's not our only problem. We have time before the Alphas get here. Let's focus on this pack first."

"Focus how?" Boyd asked.

A truly terrifying smile stretched across Derek's face. "If we want to impress the Alpha Pack enough so they don't kill us on sight, we need to be a strong, cohesive pack. Which means bonding."

"And training," Boyd concluded as Erica groaned and Isaac winced.

"Defnitely training," Derek confirmed.

Jackson snorted loudly. "It can't be any worse than Coach's practice schedule."

Even Stiles turned to look at him as if he was dumb.

"I can't believe you honestly just said that," Stiles said before turning to look at Derek. "Of course, I'm taking this opportunity to remind you that I am human and fragile, so I won't be joining in on your little dog fights. Doctor's orders."

Lydia nodded in agreement.

"Fine," Derek agreed. "Then the two of you can help Peter research what it will take to protect the territory magically."

Standing to leave, Lydia frowned and looked at him with raised eyebrows. "And where will we do this research? In your burned out shell of a house? I don't think so. Of course, if you want to fix that problem as well, I know some people."

"Fine," he agreed again, less enthusiastically. "Peter will help you and Stiles with that as well."

Stiles grinned shyly when he caught Peter staring at him smugly. Derek had just handed the two of them the perfect excuse to spend all their time together. Granted, Lydia had to be included as well, but Stiles already had a dozen excuses lined up for that.

"Awesome," he said honestly.

Lydia snorted. "Yeah, awesome."

-x-

The table in Stiles's kitchen was covered in the references that Lydia and Stiles were painstakingly going through, a clear divide between the stacks of housing magazines and old grimoires.

"No. No. No. Definitely not," Lydia sighed as she flicked through one of the magazines. She got to the last page and tossed it aside, reaching for another blindly.

"Don't you think the interior design should be something that Peter and Derek decide on?" Stiles asked, not looking up from his notebook. In the two weeks since Derek had given everyone their assignments, Stiles had filled over half the notebook with various magical protections while Lydia just sat there and looked at pictures. It wasn't a stretch to say that he was a bit fed up with her at this point.

"Sure," Lydia agreed breezily. "And where are they? Especially Peter. He's supposed to be here helping us."

Stiles chewed at the inside of his lip, resisting the urge to scream I know! at her. This wasn't the first time she had brought it up. Instead, he sighed and answered her in the same relaxed tone.

"Derek is at the house, training the puppies and clearing the place out for the construction crew. Peter is-"

"Right here."

Flinching from the sudden noise so close to his ear, Stiles turned to glare up at Peter. The apologetic look hiding behind his smirk, however, made him sigh and turn back to his notes.

Peter leaned against the table and read over Stiles's shoulder. "This is what you have so far?"

" _This_ is what I have so far," Stiles said as he lifted the notebook for Peter's inspection. "Over forty pages of different rune patterns, wards, incantations, and rituals all focused on the protection or blessing of a new home."

"Oh, is that all?" Peter teased, resting a hand on the back of Stiles's neck as he flipped through the notebook. "And what about you, Miss Martin? What do you have?"

Lydia stared at him over her magazine for a long moment. "A few ideas about colors."

"Wonderful. I'm sure Derek will love to hear about it," he said, almost completely sincere.

Staring for a little longer, she finally let her gaze fall away. She followed the length of Peter's arm until she froze at the sight of his hand still on Stiles's neck.

"I'm sure he will," she said absentmindedly, watching as Stiles continued his research completely unfazed. She stood from her chair suddenly and grabbed a few of the closest magazines. "In fact, I think I'll go talk to him about it. Right now."

Watching her carefully, Peter waited for her to hesitate in the doorway before speaking up. "I'll let Stiles know where you've gone."

She scoffed and headed out. "I'm sure."

"She does know that Derek is just going to growl at her until she leaves, right?"

"Of course she does," Stiles answered as he closed his notebook and tucked it into the book he had been going through. Leaning into Peter's hand, he tilted his head up and smiled at him. "She just used that as an excuse to leave before she had to watch you do anything inappropriate to me."

Peter laughed and brought his hand up to pet at Stiles's hair. "You'd think she'd stay if only to try and stop me."

Shaking his head, Stiles stood up and raised his arms to stretch as he spoke. "Nah, Lydia thinks you're gonna do something dirty and that I want it so she was just doing what she'd like other people to do when it comes to her and Jackson."

"And what's that?" Peter asked as he followed Stiles into the living room. They settled on the couch in front of the television and fell together naturally.

"Leave it alone," Stiles said bluntly. He flipped through the channels until he came to an old episode of Stargate.

The living room was quiet for a long moment, only the low murmur of the television cutting through the silence as they sat together peacefully.

Finally, Peter couldn't hold it in anymore. "Is this really what you're going to do instead of research?"

"I've done nothing but research for two weeks straight while listening to Lydia bitch about design choices," Stiles muttered tiredly as he pushed his way under Peter's arm. "Shut up and let me have this."

Peter hummed in acquiescence. "Of course, darling. I'll wake you when your father gets here."

A soft snore answered him.

-x-

"Stiles, I'm home! If you haven't started dinner I was thinking we could-" John cut off his attempt to con his son into getting takeout for dinner and stared dumbly at the sight in front of him.

 _Get the facts, Stilinksi,_ he thought to himself distantly.

Fact: his underage son was laying on top of a man significantly older than him, a man he had already admitted to wanting to be with intimately. Fact: both Stiles and Peter were asleep and, apparently, fully clothed. Fact: despite being asleep, Peter had immediately shifted Stiles closer to the back of the couch when John had walked in.

"Ah, hell," John groaned.

He walked over to the couch and hesitantly reached to wake Stiles. A clawed hand caught his wrist before he could make contact, squeezing it roughly.

Grimacing at the pain, he turned to face Peter and started whispering. "Hey, hey, it's alright. Just me."

"Sheriff," Peter said quietly, immediately dropping his hand. "I was going to wake Stiles when you came in, but I fell asleep. What time is it?"

"Six," John answered. He watched curiously as Peter's claws retracted slowly. "Has the research been that draining?"

Peter scoffed. "I'm afraid it's only been draining for Stiles. Miss Martin has been entirely too busy playing interior designer and I've been stuck helping Derek train his pups."

"You mean your pups."

A hint of wonder crossed Peter's face but was quickly hidden. "I suppose two of the four are mine, aren't they? Well, no wonder they listen better than Isaac. At least they make sure to show up everyday, unlike him."

"He's been with Scott," Stiles spoke up, his voice slow and scratchy. He sat up carefully, trying to avoid shoving an elbow or a knee into a delicate place, and rubbed a hand over his face. "I saw them together at the animal clinic."

Peter sighed in resignation as he stood, stretching his arms out to the side and over his head. "Of course. I don't suppose you know why Jackson has been missing more often than not as well."

"I thought he was showing up pretty regularly?"

"He was until a few days ago," Peter confirmed. "He hasn't come by in a few days."

"The Whittemores went on vacation," John spoke up from where he'd settled into his recliner. "They left Thursday."

Frustration wrinkled Peter's brow and he let out a short growl. "Stiles, would you please-"

"Text him and explain why it's a bad idea to skip out on werewolf school without the Alpha's permission?" Stiles smiled up at him affectionately before a sudden thought caused it to stretch out into a wicked grin. "Just to be clear, do you mean your permission? Or Derek's?"

"Brat," Peter huffed, reaching out to grab Stiles by the neck and shake him softly. "You know exactly what I mean."

"Yes, Alpha," Stiles simpered and reached into his pocket, not finding what he was looking for. He frowned. "That's weird. I don't remember what I did with my phone."

"It's probably on that mess of a kitchen table," John said, pulling out his own phone. "While you go look for it, I'm going to call for a pizza. Are you staying, Peter?"

Peter hesitated, trying to find the answer in John's neutral expression. "I should really-"

"Stay," Stiles suggested.

"Derek is probably expecting me back," Peter said evasively.

"So text him and tell him to expect you back later."

When it looked like Peter was going to hold out, Stiles huffed and leaned forward, tilting his head just enough to come off as submissive. "Please? I've hardly seen you lately."

"Fine," Peter caved, his eyes tracing the long line of Stiles's bared throat.

"Yes! Better make that two pizzas, Dad," Stiles suggested as he finally jumped up to find his phone. "Werewolves eat a lot."

-x-

_To Jackson:_ hope you have a doctor's note

 _From Jackson:_ i culdnt just skip this. my parents wuld b pissed

_To Jackson:_ you should have said something tho

_From Jackson:_ lyds said she wuld.

_To Jackson:_ she didn't

_From Jackson:_ fuk.

Stiles snorted and dropped his head to rest against Peter's shoulder. He had an idea that would help Jackson but he didn't know if Peter would go for it.

"What is it?" Peter asked, his attention caught by Stiles's quickening heartbeat. They'd all put away quite a bit of pizza, using the time to relax and update the Sheriff on what was happening with the pack. The only thing that could get Stiles's heart rate up would be whatever he was discussing with Jackson.

Rubbing his forehead against the rough skin of Peter's neck, Stiles took a quick peek at his father. The amusement was expected as he was more familiar with Stiles's bargaining tactics than anyone else. Just because they'd been updated to appeal to an Alpha werewolf instead of a father didn't mean they were any less recognizable.

"You could always tell Derek that you knew Jackson was going on vacation," he suggested.

"Why in the world would I do that?" Peter asked, more curious than disbelieving. He would do it simply if Stiles asked, but he was eager to see what Stiles thought he had to offer in return.

"Well, I'm sure that Jackson would be grateful," Stiles started. He grinned at Peter's uninterested hum. "I didn't think you'd go for that."

"Gratitude doesn't really benefit me," Peter agreed, ignoring the snort that came from John.

"What about a very rare, very old book of magic?" Stiles asked teasingly.

This time, Peter was the one that snorted. "That sounds more like it would benefit you."

Stiles didn't even try to deny it. "Which would benefit you in the long run."

Pulling away to look down at Stiles, Peter lifted his eyebrow in question. "Do you really want me to smooth things over with Derek? For Jackson?"

Stiles's breath hitched as his heartbeat kicked up even faster. "Yes."

Peter nodded. "Alright."

"Thanks," Stiles said quietly, turning back to his phone as he tried to ignore the way his hands were shaking. He knew that Peter was only agreeing because he trusted Stiles, as the emissary of their pack, to advise him competently. "It'll be worth it."

"I know," Peter replied. He lifted his hand from the back of the couch and brushed it against Stiles's arm comfortingly. "Especially when Jackson brings me an appropriately expensive gift for being so giving."

"Of course."

_To Jackson:_ peter's got your back

_From Jackson:_ 4 how much?

_To Jackson:_ i'll send you some links. there's a book or two in the city you should pick up too

_From Jackson:_ awsum.

_To Jackson:_ you could at least try to be thankful

_From Jackson:_ yeah yeah stilinski. thx.

_From Jackson:_ srsly.

Stiles smiled down at his phone. With how easily the puppies were rolling over for Peter, the pack would almost all be following him as Alpha before too long. Then, they could either continue to follow Derek's orders as their Alpha's Alpha, or Derek would figure it out and cede his powers to Peter.

Either way, they would be ready when the Alpha Pack arrived.

_To Jackson:_ no problem. we're pack dude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay i know it's been like a year since i've updated this story so if you're reading this and you've been waiting i am so so sorry. if you'd like to yell at me for the wait or yell at me to write the next chapter (or a whole new story!) you can find me [here on tumblr.](http://stilesthesasswolf.tumblr.com)


	7. Chapter 7

“Okay, so who wants to report first?” John asked as he took a long glance around his living room, ending with his son.

Stiles didn’t even bother to get up from the floor, deciding to twist his neck at a funny angle instead. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s probably worse.”

Lifting a hand to rub over his tired eyes, John shook his head and sighed. “You know the drill.”

“Sweep, vacuum, trash, store tomorrow,” Stiles said promptly as he tried not to laugh at the resigned look on his dad’s face.

“You guys have a drill for this?” Lydia asked disbelievingly when Stiles’s dad just nodded and walked away. She was in the same spot she’d been in all afternoon, tucked into the corner of the couch with a stack of design magazines. The only time she had moved at all was to tuck her legs underneath her when Stiles and Danny had first started to roll around in the floor.

“Of course they do,” Danny said, out of breath from laughing and jumping up when the sheriff had come in. “Have you seen Stiles? He’s a complete clutz.”

“It’s true,” Stiles confirmed with a long suffering sigh. He rolled over to look at Lydia, carefully avoiding the sharp bits of wood that had once been part of his living room coffee table. “We’ve had this specific plan in place since I was six and playing ‘the floor is lava’. Put my foot right through the glass.”

“Through glass?!” Lydia repeated, dumbfounded.

Stiles lifted his left foot and wiggled his toes, smiling proudly. “Twenty stitches, heel to toe. It was awesome.”

“Not that he thought that at the time,” John said as he came back into the room, out of uniform and with a broom in his hand. “Neither did his mother. I’m still not sure who screamed louder when the doctor started pulling out glass.”

Flushing, Stiles sprung up and grabbed the offered broom. “That’s enough out of you.”

“Did you get anything done today besides destroying the living room again?” John asked instead, not wanting to risk Stiles’s wrath. His son was much too creative when it came to punishing someone.

Ignoring the gentle tease, Stiles huffed and started sweeping up the wood, thanking Danny with a nod when the other boy left and came back with a trash bag.

“I think Lydia finally settled on a floor plan,” Stiles replied, pausing shortly to raise an eyebrow and continuing at Lydia’s nod. “She won’t show us, of course. Something about not wanting us to get attached in case Derek or Peter say no.”

“Not that Stiles couldn’t just ask Peter for whatever he wanted,” Danny butt in, smiling innocently when Stiles turned to glare at him.

“Yes, well, I’m trusting Stiles to trust me,” Lydia said airily, not looking up from yet another magazine. “Which, of course, means Peter’s trusting me because Stiles is.”

John hid his laugh under a cough, watching Stiles flush from where he was leaning in the doorway. His son’s friends certainly had his relationship with the elder werewolf all figured out, no matter how oblivious Stiles pretended to be. He moved just in time to avoid a pointed elbow that was thrown when Stiles walked past with the bag full of the former table.

“When you come back in, we can decide on dinner!” John called after his son, finally moving to settle into his recliner now that the floor was clear.

“Yeah, yeah!” Stiles called back, throwing the back door open and heading outside.

He made it to the bin and threw the bag into it, sighing in relief as he got rid of the weight. Turning to go back inside, he yelped at the sight of the figure in front of him.

“Damn it, Peter!” Stiles grumbled after catching sight of glowing blue eyes. “What the Hell was that for?”

“I enjoy the smell of your fear,” Peter answered innocently, turning to lead Stiles back into the house.

“I know you do, you creep,” Stiles replied, struggling to keep the fondness out of his voice. He smirked up at the werewolf as he slipped past him, raising his voice so his dad could hear him. “Peter’s here!”

John stuck his head out of the living room to nod at Peter in greeting before focusing on his son. “Dinner?”

Stiles sighed heavily and crossed his arms. “It has to include a vegetable.”

“Just one?” John clarified, smiling when Stiles nodded reluctantly. “Good. The pizza will be here in twenty minutes.”

Groaning, Stiles threw his hands up. “One day you will eat a fresh vegetable, damn it!”

“Maybe, but that day isn’t today.”

“Peter!” Lydia called from the living room, voice exasperated. “Come in here and look at this!”

Raising an eyebrow, Peter looked at Stiles in disbelief, tension creeping into his muscles. Even the gentle smile curving Stiles’s pretty lips couldn’t relax him.

Almost as if he had read Peter’s thoughts, Stiles laid a hand on Peter’s arm and rubbed soothingly, trying to hold in his own initial rush of anger at Lydia’s audacity.

“We’ll be there in a minute, Lydia,” Stiles said loudly, nodding at his dad’s questioning look and smiling thankfully when he ducked back into the other room.

“Is she serious?” Peter murmured, eyes flashing.

“Unfortunately,” Stiles almost spit out. Taking a deep breath, he held it for a long moment before exhaling loudly.

A quick smile flashed across Peter’s face. “I think you might be more insulted than me.”

Stiles scowled as he answered, “It’s my job.”

“You think it is,” Peter retorted fondly, laying a hand over the one Stiles had left on his arm, twining their fingers together. “Should we go see what she wants?”

“Sure, alright,” Stiles nodded, trying to relax. He knew Peter would hear the sudden uptick of his heart when he touched him and didn’t bother to look at him, knowing what he’d see. “She just doesn’t realize. It’s fine.”

“Yes, it is,” Peter agreed before pulling him into the living room.

Danny had to duck his head to hide the grin that burst across his face at the sight of the two of them coming in with their hands entwined. Lydia, on the other hand, didn’t bother as most of her smile was hiding in her eyes.

“What can I do for you, Miss Martin?”

Lifting her ever present black binder full of design ideas, Lydia smiled politely and said, “I think you might be interested in this.”

Peter reached for the binder and flipped it open, lifting it at an angle when Stiles tried to catch a glimpse.

“Aw come on,” Stiles whined, falling back on his heels.

“You can look at it later, Stiles,” Peter said reassuringly as he thumbed through the pages. Humming curiously, he nodded to himself and looked up at Lydia with a raised eyebrow. “Do you mind if I take this home to Derek?”

“That’s fine,” Lydia answered, waving a hand. “Let me know what he thinks.”

“Well, I am certainly impressed,” Peter said, his peculiar emphasis raising a flag in Stiles’s brain that let him know Peter didn’t really care what Derek would think.

“Good.”

Stiles could feel the frown stretching his lips at Lydia’s smug tone, but a knock on the door stopped him before he could say anything.

“Pizza’s here!” Danny yelled in relief, jumping up and almost running to the door.

“We’ll talk about it later,” Peter whispered to Stiles in promise. He had heard Stiles’s near silent huff.

“Fine.”

-x-x-x-x-

After the five of them demolished the pizza, Lydia and Danny went home amid promises to see Stiles at the Hale house the next day, leaving Stiles’s dad to fall asleep in front of the television while Stiles and Peter retreated to his room.

Stiles laid on his bed, stretched out across Peter’s chest and fighting to stay awake.

“I should let you sleep,” Peter murmured. His actions betrayed his words, however, as he kept running a hand down Stiles’s back soothingly.

“Mmmno,” Stiles whined. “You were gonna show me Lydia’s ideas.”

“You can see them tomorrow.”

“Show me.”

Huffing in amusement, Peter stretched an arm toward the floor to grab the binder. He brought it up and opened it to his favorite design. “This is the one I’m set on. What do you think?”

“It’s nice.”

“Stiles, you don’t eve have your eyes open,” Peter said in fond exasperation.

“Sure I do,” Stiles refuted, slapping at Peter’s chest weakly.

“Oh, you do?” Peter asked, holding in a laugh. “What’s it look like then?”

“It’s big,” Stiles muttered quietly. “Two stories, with a basement. The ground floor has a huge kitchen, a dining room, living room, family room, and a laundry room with a huge garage. The second floor has the master suite and three other bedrooms and a bathroom. There’s two bedrooms, a small bathroom, and a media room in the basement.”

“Yes,” Peter agreed in surprise. Staring at Stiles’s closed eyes, he struggled to slow both his racing thoughts and his pounding heart. “Stiles, how did you know that?”

“I told you,” Stiles said, brow furrowing in annoyance. “I’m looking.”

“Not with your eyes, you’re not.”

Stiles’s eyes snapped open, wide and wild, and caught Peter’s gaze. “What the fuck?!”

“My thoughts exactly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so here is the long awaited update for this. if you want to cheer me on for another update, you can message me on my [tumblr.](http://stilesthesasswolf.tumblr.com)


	8. Chapter 8

“No, seriously,” Stiles repeated blankly. “What the fuck?”

Peter rolled his eyes and brought his arms up to wrap around Stiles, pulling him close.

“Obviously our bond is growing,” Peter mused quietly. He laid back on the bed, bringing Stiles with him. A hand immediately started rubbing Stiles's back, the gesture soothing and warm. “You've started to grow into your powers as well, resulting in a slight case of telepathy. It’s rare between Alpha and emissary, but not unheard of, especially with more powerful emissaries. I wasn't aware you'd been practicing, though.”

Stiles winced internally at the warning tone in Peter’s voice. Rolling onto his stomach, he smiled at Peter apologetically.

“I wasn't going to,” he said honestly. “I didn't have the time and I wanted you there when I started, just in case. But during my research, I noticed quite a few really involved spells. I wasn't sure I'd be able to pull them off for the house, so I practiced.”

Frowning, Peter raised his barely clawed hand and palmed the back of Stiles's neck, shaking him gently. It was reminiscent of the way mother wolves would scold their cubs and Stiles had to fight to keep the grin off his face.

As if experiencing his own slight case of telepathy, Peter sighed and shook his head in exasperation.

“What spells did you practice?”

Stiles waved his hand around, nearly smacking Peter in the face. He grinned when the werewolf didn't even flinch. “Oh, you know. A little of this and a little of that.”

“Stiles,” Peter drawled, his voice a bit strained.

“Okay, okay,” Stiles conceded. He dropped his head onto Peter’s chest and reveled in the steady heartbeat for a minute. He knew what he had to say would upset Peter, maybe even make him mad enough to run, and he wanted to enjoy this quiet moment with his Alpha. With the Alpha pack coming, who knew when they would get another one.

“Stiles,” Peter snapped. “Tell me what spells you practiced, right now.”

Taking a deep breath, Stiles his his face against Peter’s chest, whispering into the soft cotton of his shirt. “It was mainly fire spells. Prevention, defense, attack. I wanted to be sure that I knew what I was doing, that I could keep history from repeating.”

“If Derek hasn't learned to recognize a hunter by now, then there's no hope,” Peter said tightly, crushing Stiles to his chest at just the thought of his boy burning like his family had. Like he had, twice. Of course, as an emissary, Stiles would be able to save himself. And that's what he was doing, Peter realized as he laid there trying to retract his shift. Stiles had been practicing so he was confident he'd be able to save not just himself but the rest of the pack as well.

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” Peter whispered into Stiles's soft hair.

Stiles laughed shakily and tried to break the tension. “Something particularly heinous, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Peter agreed fondly.

-x-x-x-x-

When Stiles woke, he was immediately aware of Peter’s absence. He was cold, his bed was cold, his room was cold. Certainly not an option when there was a werewolf present.

“Mm, Peter,” Stiles groaned into his pillow. Throughout the weeks of research and planning, he'd become quite accustomed to having a werewolf heater in bed with him.

A quiet chirp from his cell phone made him groan again. Rifling blindly through the mess on his headboard, he grabbed his phone and brought it under the covers he had pulled over his head.

_From Peter:_ Come downstairs. I made breakfast.

There was nothing better than when Peter stuck around and made breakfast, so Stiles slid out of bed eagerly. He pulled a hoodie over his naked chest and ran his fingers through his hair as he stumbled down the stairs. These days he never really knew who would be in his house and one too many snide comments from Lydia had made him self-conscious.

“What's this?” Stiles asked, staring at the near empty kitchen dumbly.

“Breakfast,” Peter replied. He didn't even look up from where he was buttering toast.

A smile started tugging at Stiles's lips. “I can see that. How'd you manage to leave us by ourselves?”

Peter smirked around his bite of toast before swallowing and letting the smirk grow. “The good sheriff is at work and the puppies are out in the woods training with Derek.”

Stiles hummed as he made himself a cup of coffee, doctoring it liberally with cream and sugar. “And Lydia?”

“Salon trip with her mother,” Peter answered promptly. “At an exclusive salon in San Francisco. They won't be back until tomorrow.”

Setting his mug on the counter, Stiles stepped up behind Peter and wrapped his arms around him.

“Thank you,” he said, slightly muffled by Peter’s shirt.

Peter turned around and returned the embrace. “I know how exhausted you've been, carving runes into the frame of the house for the past two weeks. It doesn't help that everyone keeps coming over here unannounced.”

“Peter,” Stiles sighed as he lifted his head to look up at his Alpha. “ _Thank you._ ”

“Yes, well,” Peter muttered before bringing a hand up to ruffle Stiles's hair, marveling for a moment at the new growth. “Eat your breakfast.”

“Yes, Alpha,” Stiles replied. He stepped away, grabbed his coffee, and made his way to the table. A steaming plate of pancakes sat in front of his usual chair.

“You need the carbs so don't argue with me,” Peter said preemptively.

Stiles rolled his eyes affectionately. “Yes, Alpha.”

-x-x-x-x-

“Today was nice,” Stiles said, nodding his head decisively.

Peter snorted. “Of course you think today was nice. You didn't do anything.”

Flipping onto his side, Stiles huffed and glared up at Peter standing in the doorway. A quick thought and Peter stumbled forward as if pushed.

“Alright, so following Lydia around furniture stores counts as doing something,” Peter corrected as he caught himself with a hand on Stiles's desk. “Now I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't use your big psychic brain to push me from where I'm comfortably positioned.”

“Well now you can be comfortably positioned in bed with me,” Stiles said happily before snapping his mouth shut with a click. A bright flush climbed his cheeks until it lined the bottom of his wide, embarrassed eyes. 

“Stiles,” Peter purred, slinking his way over to the bed and sitting on it as close to Stiles as possible. “Are you propositioning me?”

“Kill me now,” Stiles murmured bitterly to himself before glaring at Peter half-heartedly. “You know what I meant.”

Nodding, Peter toed off his shoes and pulled his shirt over his head. As always, Stiles had to resist the urge to stare as Peter made himself comfortable in his bed. It was a sweet kind of torture.

“Get some sleep, Stiles. We can revisit your interesting proposition in the morning.”

“Seriously,” Stiles sighed as he settled back against Peter. “Kill me now.”

“Maybe in the morning, darling,” Peter yawned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is basically just domestic steter fluff with a (n extremely smooth and totally subtle) time skip to get to the good stuff next chapter.


End file.
